
eh™ yp^f! 



Book 



£jz 






Copyright N°. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



A COLLECTION OF VERSE BY 
CALIFORNIA POETS 

FROM 1849 TO 1915 



COMPILED,BY 

AUGUSTIN S.'MACDONALD 

"californiana" etc. 




A. M. ROBERTSON 

SAN FRANCISCO 
1914 






COPYRIGHT. 1914 

BY 

AUGUSTIN S. MACDONALD 




San "Tranclsco 

NOV 30 1914 
©CI.A388814 



PREFACE 

In this materialistic age a manifestation of sentiment 
seems to demand some explanation, if not an apology. 

The selections in this little anthology, the first of its 
kind on the Pacific Coast, were prepared with a view of 
making them as representative as possible and pleasing the 
many, rather than satisfying the few. The volume is in- 
tended simply as a note of introduction — a few poetical 
blossoms from California's garden of literature — in the 
hopes that, if sufficiently interesting, it will induce a wider 
acquaintanceship with the work of the various authors. 

I wish to express my appreciation to all those who have so 
generously contributed their verse as well as for the use of 
poems from privately printed books. Grateful acknowledg- 
ment is also due the following publishers, owners of copy- 
rights: Western — Messrs. A. M. Robertson, Paul Elder & Co., 
Whitaker & Ray-Wiggin Co., Blair-Murdock Co. and Hardy 
Publishing Co.; Eastern — Messrs. B. Huebsch for E. H. 
Griggs; Little, Brown & Co. for Helen Hunt Jackson; 
Charles Scribner's Sons for Robert Louis Stevenson and 
Juliet W. Tompkins; Doubleday, Page & Co. for Edwin 
Markham; Macmillan & Co. for Wallace Irwin; Houghton, 
Mifflin & Co. for the selections from Bret Harte and E. R. 
Sill published by special permission and Funk & Wagnalls 
for the poems of Richard Realf, copyrighted 1898. 

A. S. M. 
Oakland, California, November, 1914. 



CONTENTS 

PlONEEB Pkriod 1849 to 1869 

l'A(,K 

California Ha yard Taylor 1 

The Golden Gate . . . "Caxton"— (W. //. anodes) 3 

The Song of the Flume Anna M. Fitch 4 

The Sabbath Bells John R. Ridge 6 

An Evening Song at Sea C. K. liar, as 7 

To the Sierras J. J. Owen 8 

To My Mother Stephen C. Massett 9 

The Lone Pine B. P. Avery 10 

No Baby in the House Clara Dolliver 11 

The Parting Hour* Edward Pollock 11 

Truth G 12 

The Whole Story J. F. Bowman 12 

To My First Love Crowquill 13 

Song of Labor: The Miner John Sic< tt 14 

Stanzas Sarah E. Carmichael 15 

Hurrah for the Next that Dies . . Bartholomew Bowling 16 

Scotland James Linen 18 

Overland Period 1869 to 1889 

PAGE 

Columbus Joaquin Miller 19 

To Mrs. M Richard Realf 20 

The Angelus F. Bret Harte 21 

Madrigal Charles Warren Stoddard 22 

Lines Marie Twain 22 

Home Edward Rowland Sill 23 

In Blossom Time Ina Coolbrith 24 

tbearts and Wives Daniel O'Connell 25 

Two Truths Helen Hunt Jackson 26 

A Bird Sings In My Heart Irene Hardy 26 

I Know Not How It Is With You . Robert Louis Stevenson 27 

Politics Ambrose Bierce 28 

EH Vaqnero Lucius llanrood Foote 28 

California Skies Clarence Urmy 29 

mite Daunt 8. Richardson 30 

Junipero Serra Richard Edward White 30 

To the Colorado Desert. . . . Madge Morris Wagner 31 

Music Edu ■< ton Taylor 32 

Mankind* Tooqvifi Miller 32 

Indirection Riehard Rralf 33 

jtmaa in California* . . . Edward "Rowland Sill 34 

Luke F. Bret I far/ 

The Cornel Charles ll'arrcn Stoddard 39 

Belle of Monterey .... Einnim Havemeyer Tucker 40 

"The Pride i.f Battery B" . . . Frank H. Qauawag 42 
The Celestial Burgeon . . . Boberi I. 



CONTENTS 



Present Period 1890 to 1915 

PAGE 

Invocation to California Charles Keeler 45 

The Black Vulture George Sterling 46 

Kesurgam David Lesser Lezinsky 46 

Just California John S. McGroarty 47 

The Happiest Heart John Vance Cheney 48 

The Creed of Desire Bruce Porter 48 

To San Francisco Samuel John Alexander 49 

The Shrine of Song . . . Louis Alexander Robertson 50 

The Bosary Robert Cameron Rogers 51 

Lines Yone Noguchi 51 

The Old Brooch Charles F. Lummis 52 

The Wolves of the Sea Herbert Bashford 53 

A Dream of Beauty Clark Ashton Smith 54 

Women's Eyes Arthur William Ryder 54 

The Goblin Laugh Edwin Markham 55 

The Awakening Christian Binkley 56 

A Nosegay Augustin S. Hacdonald 56 

Appearances William Henry Hudson 57 

The Grave of Pompey . . . Sister Anthony, S. N. B. 57 

Viverols David Starr Jordan 58 

A Memory . . . Carolus Ager (Charles Kellogg Field) 60 

A Toast Gelett Burgess 60 

To the Average Man Wallace Irwin 61 

Twilight Town Ralph Erwin Gibbs 62 

Growth of the Soul .... James Henry Maclaferty 63 

To My Ink-well Lionel Josaphare 63 

To a Star-Flower Edward Howard Griggs 64 

Little Memories Nora May French 65 

The Difference Augustin S. Macdonald 65 

Lyric Howard V. Sutherland 66 

Nirvana Bernard Wcstermann 67 

Eetrospection James Rawlins 67 

Titans of Earth Harold Symmes 68 

Quatrain Stanley Coghill 68 

Sonnet Henriette de Saussure Blanding 69 

When the Baby Died A. J. Waterhouse 70 

A Wingless One Herman Schefauer 71 

Wireless Henry Anderson Lafler 71 

The California Eschscholtzia . Amelia Woodward Truesdell 72 

California Sunrise W. D. Crabb 73 

Out in California C. Brown 73 

A Flower of the First Charles S. Aiken 74 

A Year from Now Sarah Eeppel Vickery 75 

Whem I Am Gone Isabel Pixley 75 

My Eetreat Albert J. Atkins 76 

Whom Does She Love Arthur Wm. Ryder 76 

Sisters of the Little Sorrows . Juliet Wilbor Tompkins 77 

Daffodils Grace Hibbard 78 

Confusion E. F. Green 79 

An Indian Verse Hu Maxwell 79 



CONTENTS 



The Stream of Life Lilian Lauferty 80 

The Change Charles Philip Nettleton 80 

The Spirit of California Unfits Steele 81 

Song of the Out-of-Doors .... Herbert Bashford 82 

To William Vaughn Moody Herbert Heron 83 

The Greatest of These Is Charity . Harriet M. Skidmore 83 

Glose Upon a Ruba'iy Porter Garnett 84 

The Poet Ina Coolbrith 85 

A Life Edward Howard Griggs 86 

In the Redwood Canyons Lillian Shuty 86 

California Augustin S. Macdonald 86 

Night Sentries George Sterling 87 



•Excerpts. 



PIONEER PERIOD 

1849 to 1869 

CALIFORNIA 

BAYABD TAYIXW 

fair young land, the youngest, fairest far 

Of which our world can boast — 
Whose guardian planet, evening's silver star. 

Illumes thy golden coast, — 

How art thou conquered, tamed in all the pride 

Of Savage beauty still ! 
How brought, panther of the splendid hide, 
To know thy master's will! 

No more thou sittest on thy tawny hills 

In indolent repose ; 
Or pourest the crystal of a thousand rills 

Down from thy house of snows. 

But where the wild oats wrapped thy knees 
in gold, 
The plowman drives his share, 
And wh<r«\ through canons deep, thy streams 
are rolled, 
The miner's arm is bare. 

Yet in thy lap. thus rudely rent and torn, 

\ nobler seed shall be ; 
Mother of mighty men, thou shalt not mourn 
Thy lost virginity ! 

Thy human children shall restore the grace 

Gone with thy fallen pines : 
The wild, barbaric beauty of thy face 
Shall round to classic lii 

[i] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



And order, justice, social law shall curb 

Thy untamed energies ; 
And art and science, with their dreams superb, 

Replace thine ancient ease. 

The marble, sleeping in thy mountains now, 

Shall live in sculptures rare ; 
Thy native oak shall crown the sage 's brow — 

Thy bay, the poet 's hair. 

Thy tawny hills shall bleed their purple wine, 

Thy valleys yield their oil ; 
And music, with her eloquence divine, 

Persuade thy sons to toil. 

Till Hesper, as he trims his silver beam, 

No happier land shall see. 
And earth shall find her old Arcadian dream 

Restored again in thee ! 



2] 



PIOSEEU 1'EIUOD 1849 TO 1869 



THE GOLDEN <iATE 

"Caxton" — (\v. ii. SHOD 

Old Thebes could boast of her gates of brass, 

As they grated on hinges hoary, 
And loosened their bolts for a monarch to pass, 

On his errands of guilt and glory. 

But their portals were closed on a nation of slaves, 
Kneeling Low at the foot of a Pharaoh, 

And the Nile now waters an Egypt of graves, 
From sepulchral Phihe, to Cairo. 

Remorseless Time, in his journeyings on, 

Like Samson, al Gaza, of old, 
On his shoulders her hundred gates have bore, 
And covered their sheen with mold. 

But further than Ind, in the western world, 

I'nknown to the sages olden. 
Young Freedom, at length, has her banner 
unfurled, 

In a city whose Gate is Golden. 

flittering bars are the breakers high, 
Its binges arc hills of granite, 
Its bolts are the winds, its arch is the sky, 
Its corner-stone a planet! 

Inside of its portals no slave bows his head, 

To priestess of On or of Isis, 
Or covers the ground a monarch may tread. 

With the slime of a minion's trisa 

But proud of his home in a city so fair, 

Enthroned on her hillocks seven. 
He stands like a Roman, and breathes the free air, 

And kneels to no God, but in heaven. 

No gianl can tear from their pillars away, 

The Golden < late of his glory, 
For as long as the winds and the waters play, 

It shall swing on its hinges hoary. 

[3] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



THE SONG OF THE FLUME 

ANNA M. FITCH 

Awake, awake ! for my track is red, 

With the glow of the coming day ; 
And with tinkling tread, from my dusty bed, 

I haste o 'er the hills away, 
Up from the valley, up from the plain, 

Up from the river's side ; 
For I come with a gush, and a torrent's rush, 

And there 's wealth in my swelling tide. 

I am fed by the melting rills that start 

Where the sparkling snow-peaks gleam, 
My voice is free, and with fiercest glee 

I leap in the sun 's broad beam ; 
Tho' torn from the channels deep and old, 

I have worn through the craggy hill, 
Yet I flow in pride, as my waters glide, 

And there 's mirth in my music still. 

I sought the shore of the sounding sea, 

From the far Sierra's hight, 
With a starry breast, and a snow-capped crest 

I foamed in a path of light ; 
But they bore me thence in a winding way, 

The 've fettered me like a slave, 
And as scarfs of old were exchanged for gold, 

So they barter my soil-stained wave. 

Thro' the deep tunnel, down the dark shaft, 

I search for the shining ore ; 
Hoist it away to the light of day. 

Which it never has seen before. 
Spade and shovel, mattock and pick, 

Ply them with eager haste ; 
For my golden shower is sold by the hour, 

And the drops are too dear to waste. 

[4 1 



PIONEER PERIOD 1849 TO 1869 



Lift ine aloft to the mountain's brow, 

Fathom the deep "blue vein," 
And I'll sift the soil for the shining spoil, 

As J sink to the valley again. 
The swell of my BWarthy breast shall bear 

Pebble and rock away. 
Though they brave my strength, they shall yield at 
Length, 

But the glittering gold shall stay. 

Mine is no stern and warrior march. 

No stormy tramp and drum; 
No banners gleam in my darkened stream, 

As with conquering step I come; 
Rut I touch the tributary earth 

Till it owns a monarch's sway. 
And with eager hand, from a conquered land, 

I bear its wealth away. 

Awake, awake! there are living hearts 

In the lands you've left afar: 
There are tearful eyes in the homes you prize 

As they gaze on the western star; 
Then up from the valley, up from the hill, 

Up from the river's side ; 

I come with a gush, and a torrent's rash. 

And there's wrath in my swelling tide. 



[5] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 
THE SABBATH BELLS 

JOHN R. RIDGE 

The Sabbath bells are ringing 
With clear and cheerful notes, 

And from the steeple springing, 
Far off the music floats. 

To yonder mountain reaches, 

The ever rising strain, 
And Echo 's dying speeches 

Repeat it o 'er again. 

The summer woodlands filling, 
The solemn cadence rolls, 

And through the leaves is thrilling 
Like soft, pulsating souls. 

The air with rippling motion, 

Aeolian answer gives, 
And like a trembling ocean, 

Its outspread bosom heaves. 

The far horizon sweeping. 
Each tone majestic swells, 

And all the world is leaping 
Beneath the sounding bells. 

'Tis solemn, yet 'tis cheerful, 
A clear and pleasant voice, 

That bids the sad and tearful 
Be hopeful and rejoice. 

Let Sabbath morns unclouded 
Still hear these tones of peace, 

For earth with woe is shrouded 
When Sabbath bells shall cease. 



[6 



1 



PIONEER PERIOD 1849 TO 1869 
AN EVENING SONG AT SEA 

C. E. HAVENS 

Sweet night, whence sweeter calm doth flow, 

Sweet solitude of sea and sky: 

Made sweeter far, because I know 

That thou with all sweet things must die ; — 

For beauty fades from out the eye, 

And love itself will cease to be ; 

As summer winds from tropic shores, 

Die on the smooth unruffled sea. 

Now, Hesperus, evening star of love 
Flings o 'er the waves a lane of light ; 
And constellations from above 
Gleam out like di'mond on the sight : 
And phosphor, glinting silver-white 
From out the deep and dimpled sea, 
Looks like another realm of stars 
In Heaven 's inverted canopy. 

Sweet double star of love and rest, 
That usherest in the hour of sleep ; 
I watch in grief thy waning crest 
Go glimmering down the dusky deep. 
While other stars their vespers keep, 
My Longing thoughts revert to thee, 
And follow np thy trail of light 
To other heavens beyond the sea. 



7] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 
TO THE SIERRAS 

J. J. OWEN 

Ye snow-capped mountains, basking in the sun, 
Like fleecy clouds that deck the summer skies, 

On you I gaze, when day 's dull task is done, 
Till night shuts out your glories from my eyes. 

For stormy turmoil, and ambition 's strife, 
I find in you a solace and a balm, — 

Derive a higher purpose, truer life, 

From your pale splendor, passionless and calm. 

Mellowed by distance, all your rugged cliffs, 
And deep ravines, in graceful outlines lie ; 

Each giant form in silent grandeur lifts 
Its hoary summit to the evening sky. 

I reck not of the wealth untold, concealed 
Beneath your glorious coronal of snows, 

Whose budding treasure yet but scarce revealed, 
Should blossom into trade — a golden rose. 

A mighty realm is waking at your feet 
To life and beauty, from the lap of Time, 

With cities vast, where millions yet shall meet, 
And Peace shall reign in majesty sublime. 

Rock-ribbed Sierras, with your crests of snow, 
A type of manhood, ever strong and true, 

Whose heart with golden wealth should ever glow, 
Whose thoughts in purity should symbol you. 



[8] 



PIONEER PERIOD 1849 TO 1869 
TO MY MOTHER 

STEPHEN C. MASSETT 

My Mother ! canst thou see me now 

From the far-off fields of light — 
Canst thou in spirit come again. 

And bless me with thy sight? 
Oh ! I can see thee, when these eyes 

Are closed in balmy sleep; 
And reveling in happy dreams 

We sweet communion keep ! 

Years, years have passed, and life to me 

Has been hut as a dream, 
Yet often have I yearned for thee, 

As sailing down its stream, 
Fond memory brings thee back again, 

As thou wert once to me : 
When nestled in thy arms I lay. 

Or crept upon thy knee ! 

And when I saw thee in that sleep 

From which there is no waking, 
And felt as I then gazed on thee 

My very heart was breaking; 
Oh ! can it be, that in that land. 

Where there is no more pain, 
We may once more united be. 

Never to part again ? 

And shall we meet as we have met. 

And be ns we have been — 
And shall I see thee on me smile. 

As I have sometimes seen? 
Oh God ! if this it is to m< 

In Heaven's own land of Light, 
Illume my path — direct my feet, 

And guide my Bteps aright! 



9] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



THE LONE PINE 

B. P. AVERY 

Sway thy top, thou ancient pine — 

Warrior of the storm commanding ! 
Lone upon the mountain standing, 
Whom no ivy's arms entwine. 
Melancholy souls like mine, 

'Neath thy shadow passing slow, 
Love to hear thy plaintive moan ; 

Tis an echo of the woe 
Found in human breasts alone. 

Mournfully amid the ruins 

Of thy fellows standest thou, 
Like a column of some temple 
Living but in story now ; 
All around it, wildly scattered, 
Fallen walls and pillars shattered. 
Softly sighing through thy branches 

Sounds the wind, with fall and swell ; 
Now retreats, and now advances, 

Rousing fancy with its spell, 
Like the melody that chances 

On the ear from distant bell, 
Or the murmur that entrances 

Of the tinted sea-side shell. 
Lo ! musing on thy loneliness, 

Thy brethren seem again to rise ; 
On every hand a wilderness 

Shuts out the prospect of the skies. 

'Tis verdure all, and deepest shade, no sound 

Disturbs the thoughtful silence, save 

A murmur such as rolls through Ocean cave, 

And rustling of dry leaves upon the ground. 

But while I listen with an awe profound, 

A glance dispels the visionary wood — 

A single tree remains where late ten thousand stood. 



[10 



PIONEER PERIOD 1849 TO 1869 
NO BABY IN THE BOUSE 

CLARA DOLLIVEB 

No baby in the house I know — 

Tis Car too nice and clean ; 
No toys by careless fingers strewn 

[Jpon the floors arc seen. 
.-.o finger-marks arc on the panes, 

No scratches on the chaii 
No wooden men set up in rows. 

Or marshaled off in pairs; 

Xo little Stockings to he darned. 

All ragged at the toes. 
No pile of mending to he done, 

Made up of baby-clothes; 

No little troubles to he soothed. 

Xo little hands to fold ; 
No grimy fingers to he washed. 

Xo stories to he told ; 
Xo tender kisses to he uiven, 

No niek-nanies — " Clove " and "Moot 
Xo merry frolics after tea — 

X<> baby in the house. 



THE PARTING HOUR 

EDWARD POLLOCK 

There's something in the "parting hour." 

Will chill the warmest heart, 

Yel kindred, comrades, lovers. Friends, 
Are fated all to part ; 

But this 1 \r Been— and many a pang 

lias pressed it on my mind — 
The one that goes is happier 
Than those he leaves behind. 



11 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 
TRUTH 

G. 

Truth, like the diamond, is a fount of light, 
Beaming effulgent in the darkest night ; 
Error its ebon form may intervene, 
But still it beams as brightly, though unseen ; 
And though thus hid till centuries have past, 
The steady fire shall slay the foe at last. 
Dark clouds may sometimes veil its radiant form, 
And lightning rend it ; — but, amid the storm, 
The gem is undefiled, and its pure ray 
Brighter shall shine, like sunbeams on the day 
When storm, and cloud, and lightning pass 
away. 

THE WHOLE STORY 

J. F. BOWMAN 

When Jones was sixteen, he was bent 
On one day being President. 

At twenty-five, Jones thought that he 
Content as District Judge would be. 

At thirty, he was much elated 

When Mayor of Frogtown nominated. 

But bootless all the nomination — 

His rival Tompkins graced the station. 

At forty-five, his dreams had fled ; 
Hope and Ambition, both were dead. 

When from his toils he found release, 
He died — a Justice of the Peace. 

youthful heart, so high and bold, 
Thus is thy brief, sad story told ! 

[12] 



PIONEER PERIOD 1849 TO 1869 
TO MY FIRST LOVE 

CROWQUILL 

This heart has beat to many a one, 

To many, passing fair ; 
But oh ! the Love which first it knew, 

Still lingers fondly there ; — 
Though brighter eyes have beamed on ine,- 

And rosier lips I 've prest, 
The Love which first I felt for thee — 

Yet dwells within my breast. 

Tho' softer skies are o'er me now, 

And stars shine brighter here ; 
Tho' Nature wears a sunny smile 

And birds sing all the year, 
Yet I would fain them all resign, 

To dwell once more with thee, 
For one sweet smile from lips like thine, 

Were dearer far to me. 

As memory clings around the spot, 

Where first the breath we drew, 
And all our kindlier thoughts are placed 

On scenes that first we knew — 
So earliest Love still twines around 

The heart which beats to ours, 
As Summer's sweetest dew is found 

Upon the earliest flowers. 



[13 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 
SONG OF LABOR; THE MINER 

JOHN SWETT 

The eastern sky is blushing red, 

The distant hill-top glowing ; 
The brook is murmuring in its bed, 

In idle frolics flowing ; 
'Tis time the pickaxe and the spade, 

And iron ' ' torn ' ' were ringing, 
And with ourselves, the mountain stream, 

A song of labor singing. 

The mountain air is cool and fresh, 

Unclouded skies bend o 'er us, 
Broad placers, rich in hidden gold, 

Lie temptingly before us ; 
We ask no magic Midas' wand. 

Nor wizard rod divining, 
The pickaxe, spade and brawny hand 

Are sorcerers in mining. 

When labor ceases with the day, 

To simple fare returning, 
We gather in a merry group 

Around the camp-fires burning ; 
The mountain sod our couch at night, 

The stars shine bright above us. 
We think of home and fall asleep, 

To dream of those who love us. 



14 



PIONEER PERIOD 1849 TO 1869 

STANZAS 
BABAB B. CAKMIOHAEL 

1 love the music of the wave. 
I love the night wind's song; 

I love to bear the storm king cheer 
His frenzied host along ; 

I love all nature's thrilling tones. 

I love the notes of art — 
But better far, than all, I love 

The music of the heart. 

I love the tints of beauty laid 

Softly on leaf and ilower ; 
The trembling light that gilds the night, 

And wraps the midnight hour; 
I love the sunny warmth and light 

From the glad sunbeams stole — 
But better far, than all. 1 love 

The beauty of the soul. 

I prize all heaven's precious gifts. 

Laid on the earth or sea ; 
The lowliest flower that decks life's bower 

Is beautiful to me : 
I value every ray of light 

That gleams below — above ; 
But, <>h ! I value more than tli 

The smiles of those I love. 



15 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



HURRAH FOR THE NEXT THAT DIES! 

BARTHOLOMEW DOWLING 

[This remarkable poem relates to revelry in India at a 
time when the English officers serving in that country were 
being struck down by pestilence. It has been correctly styled 
"the very poetry of military despair."] 

We meet 'neath the sounding rafter, 

And the walls around are bare : 
As they shout back our peals of laughter, 

It seems as the dead were there. 
Then stand to your glasses ! — steady ! 

We drink 'fore our comrades ' eyes ; 
One cup to the dead already : 

Hurrah for the next that dies ! 

Not here are the goblets glowing, 

Not here is the vintage sweet ; 
'Tis cold as our hearts are growing, 

And dark as the doom we meet. 
But stand to your glasses ! — steady ! 

And soon shall our pulses rise. 
One cup to the dead already : 

Hurrah for the next that dies ! 

There's many a hand that's shaking, 

And many a cheek that 's sunk ; 
But soon, though our hearts are breaking, 

They'll burn with the wine we've drunk. 
Then stand to your glasses ! — steady ! 

'Tis here the revival lies ; 
Quaff a cup to the dead already : 

Hurrah for the next that dies ! 

Time was when we laughed at others ; 

We thought we were wiser then. 
Ha ! ha ! let them think of their mothers, 

Who hope to see them again. 

r i6 1 



PIONEER PERIOD 1849 TO 1869 



No ! Stand to your glasses ! — steady ! 

The thoughtless is here the wise; 
One cup to the dead already : 

Hurrah for the next that di< 

Not a sigh for the Lot that darkles. 

\oi a tear for the friends that sink; 
We'll fall 'mid the wine-cup's sparkles, 

As mute as the wine we drink. 
Come ! Stand to your glasses ! - steady ! 

'Tis this that the respite buj 
One cup to the dead already : 

Hurrah for the next that dies ! 

Who dreads to the dust returning? 

Who shrinks from the sable shore, 
Where the high and haughty yearning 

Of the soul can sting no more ? 
No ! Stand to your glasses ! — steady ! 

This world is a world of lies ; 
One cup to the dead already : 

Hurrah for the next that dies! 

Cut off from the land that bore us. 

Betray 'd by the land we find, 
When the brightest are gone before us, 

And the dullest are left behind. 
Stand! — stand to your glasses! — steady! 

'Tis all we have left to prize; 
One cup to the dead already : 

Hurrah for the next that di< 



[17 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 
SCOTLAND 

JAMES LINEN 

My country ! My country ! I '11 love thee forever ! 
Fair land of my birth ; I forget thee will never : 
Though severed from thee by the deep-heaving main, 
Hope 's whispers still tell me 1 11 see thee again — 
Truth reigning triumphant, by shores uninvaded, 
Thy beauty unshorn, and thy Thistle unf aded. 

When Summer makes Nature her glories disclose, 
When Winter is robed in her mantle of snows, 
And withers the flowerets that deck the gay scene, 
Thy Thistle stands forth in its garment of green. 
Proud emblem of freedom ! disdaining to crouch, 
The tyrant reels back at its deep-piercing touch ; 

He cannot, he dare not, its beauty deform, 
For boldly it stands 'mid the tempest and storm. 
Oh ! long may it wave on the green mountain side, 
Unfading as Truth in the strength of its pride : 
Then spare it, Time, from the wrecks of decay, 
Till Nature expires and the hills melt away. 



[18 



"OVERLAND" PERIOD 

1869 to 1889 

COLUMBUS 

JOAQUIN MILLER 

Behind him lay the gray Azoi 
Behind the < Jatcs of HercuL 

I'd'. .n« liim on til" ghOfit of shores. 

Before him only shoreless seas. 
The good mate said: "NOW we must pray. 

For lo, the very stnrs are gone. 
Brave Adm'r'l speak; what shall 1 sav.'" 

"Why Bay: 'Sail on! sail on! sail on!' " 

"My men grow mutinous day by day : 
My men grow ghastly wan and weak." 

The stout mate thought of home: a spray 
Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. 

"What shall I say, brave Adm'r'l. say, 
It' we sight naught but seas at dawn V 

" Why you shall say at break of day : 
" Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! sail on !' 

They sailed and Bailed, as the winds might blow 

Until at last the blanched mate said : 
"Why, not even God would know 

Should I and all my men t*;ill dead. 
These very winds forgot their way. 

For God from these dread seas is gone, 
Xow Bpeak, brave Adm'r'l ; speak and say" — 

1 le said : "'Sail on ! s;iil on ! s;iil on !" 

They sailed. They Bailed. Then spake the mate 
"This mad sea shows its teeth tonight. 

lie curls his lips, he lies in wait, 
With lifted teeth. ;is if to bite! 

[19] 



" OVERLAND " PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 



Brave Adm'r'l, say but one good word; 

What shall we do when hope is gone ? ' ' 
The words leapt as a leaping sword : 

' ' Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! " 

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, 

And peered through darkness. Ah, that night 

Of all dark nights ! And then a speck — 
Alight! Alight! Alight! Alight! 

It grew, a starlit flag unfurled ! 

It grew to be Time 's burst of dawn. 

He gained a world ; he gave that world 
Its grandest lesson : " On ! sail on ! " 



TO MRS. M- 



On the birth of her first child 

RICHARD REALF 

When you lay shivering with the great excess 
Of mother-marvel at your child 's first cry ; 
When you looked up and saw him standing by, 

Leaning the strong unspeakable utterness 
Of all his soul upon you ; when you smiled, 

And your weak lips strove mightily to frame 

To a new song your new life 's oriflamme, 

And presently the infinite words, "Our child," 

Made a most musical murmur, as of breath 
Breathed by a poet 's spirit — did you know 
The babe's slight moan, that seemed so faint 
and low, 

Was God's voice speaking from dear Nazareth, 
Covering you up with that white light that lay 
On Mary and her young Christ in the hay ? 



20 



"OVEBLAND" PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 
THE ANGBLUS 

V. BRET HABT1 

Heard at (I" Mission Dolores, 1368 

Bells of the Past, whose loiiLr-forgotten music 

Still fills the wide expanse, 
Tingeing the sober twilight of the Present 

With color of roman 

I hear your call, and see the sun descending 

On rock and wave and sand, 
As down the coast the Mission voices blending 

Girdle the heathen land. 

Within the circle of your incantation 

\o blight nor mildew falls ; 
Nor fierce unrest, nor lust, nor low ambition 
Passes those airy walls. 

Borne on the swell of your long waves receding, 

I touch the farther Past, — 
I see the dying glow of Spanish glory, 

The sunset dream and last! 

I;. Tore me rise the dome-shaped Mission towers, 

The white Presidio; 
The swart commander in his leathern jerkin, 

The priest in stole of snow. 

e more I see Portola's cross uplifting 
Above the setting sun; 
And past the headland, northward, slowly drifting 
The freighted galleon. 

solemn bells! whose consecrated mae 

Recall the faith of old.— 
tinkling bells! thai lulled with twilight music 

The spiritual fold I 

Your voices break and falter in the darknea 

Break, falter, and are still ; 
And veiled and mystic, like the II Siding, 

The sun sinks from the hill ! 

[21] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



MADRIGAL 

CHARLES WARREN STODDARD 

A maid is seated by a brook, 

The sweetest of sweet creatures ; 
I pass that way with my good book, 
But cannot read, nor cease to look 
Upon her winsome features. 

Amongst the blushes on her cheek 
Her small white hand reposes, 

I am a shepherd, for I seek 

That willful lamb, with fleece so sleek, 
Feeding among the roses. 



LINES 

MARK TWAIN, ON HIS WIFE'S TOMBSTONE 

Warm summer sun, 

Shine kindly here. 
Warm southern wind, 

Blow softly here. 
Green sod above. 

Lie light, lie light. 
Good night, dear heart, 

Good night, good night. 






[22 



" OVERLAND " PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 
HOME 

EDWARD ROWLAND SILL 

There lies a little city in the hills; 

White are its mofs. dun is each dwelling's door, 

And peace with perfect rest its bosom tills. 

There the \n\ro mist, the pity of the sea. 
Comes as a white, soft hand, and reaches o'er 
And touches its still face most tenderly. 

Unstirred and calm; amid our shifting years, 

Lo! where it lies, far from the dash and roar, 
With quiet distance blurred, as if thro' tears. 

O heart, that prayesl so for God to send 

Some Loving messenger to go before 

And lead the way to where thy longings end. 

He sure, be very sure, that soon will come 
His kindest angel, and through that still door 
Into the Infinite love will lead thee home. 



23 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 
IN BLOSSOM TIME 

INA COOLBRITH 

It 's my heart, my heart, 

To be out in the sun and sing — 
To sing and shout in the fields about, 

In the balm and the blossoming ! 

Sing loud, bird in the tree ; 

bird, sing loud in the sky, 

And honey-bees, blacken the clover beds — 
There is none of you glad as I. 

The leaves laugh low in the wind, 

Laugh low, with the wind at play ; 
And the odorous call of the flowers all 

Entices my soul away ! 

For O but the world is fair, is fair — 

And but the world is sweet ! 
I will out in the gold of the blossoming mould, 

And sit at the Master 's feet. 

And the love my heart would speak, 

1 will fold in the lily's rim, 

That th' lips of the blossom, more pure and meek, 
May offer it up to Him. 

Then sing in the hedgerow green, thrush, 

skylark, sing in the blue ; 
Sing loud, sing clear, that the King may hear, 

And my soul shall sing with you ! 



[24 



OVERLAND" PEIUOD 1869 TO 1889 



SWEETHEARTS AND WIVES 

DANIEL O'OONNELL 

l\' sweethearts were sweethearts always, 

Whether as maid or wife. 
No drop would be half SO pleasant 

In the mingled draught of life. 

But the sweetheart lias smiles and blushes 
When the wife has frowns and sighs, 

And the wife's have a wrathful glitter 
For the glow of the sweetheart's eyes. 

If lovers were lovers always. 

The same to sweetheart and wife, 

Who would change for a future of Eden 
The joys of this checkered life? 

But husbands grow grave and silent, 

And cares on the anxious brow 
Oft replace the sunshine that perished 

At the words of the marriage vow. 

Happy is he whose sweetheart 

Is wife and sweetheart still — 
Whose voice, as of old, can charm ; 

Whose kiss, as of old, can thrill ; 

Who has plucked the rose, to find ever 
Its beauty and fragrance increase, 

As the flush of passion is mellowed 
In love's unmeasured peace ; 

Who Bees in the step a lightness ; 

Who finds in the form a grace; 
Who reads an unaltered brightness 
In tin 1 witchery of the face. 

Undimmed and unchanged. Ah ! happy 

N he crowned with such a life. 
Who drinks the wife, pledging the sweetheart, 

And toasts in the sweetheart the wife. 

r 26 1 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 
TWO TRUTHS 

HELEN HUNT JACKSON 

1 ' Darling, ' ' he said, ' ' I never meant 
To hurt you ; ' ' and his eyes grew wet. 

1 ' I would not hurt you for the world ! 
Am I to blame if I forget ? ' ' 

11 Forgive my selfish tears!" she cried. 

1 ' Forgive ! I knew that it was not 
That you would mean to hurt me, love ; 

I knew it was that you forgot ! ' ' 

But, all the same, deep in her heart 
Rankled this thought, and rankles yet 

When love is at its best, one loves 
So much that he can not forget ! 



A BIRD SINGS IN MY HEART 

IRENE HARDY 

A bird sings in the garden of my heart, 
And all day long I hear its carol clear; 
At night it folds its gentle wings so near, 
Its tender pulsings stir my blood and start 
The tears within my eyes to think Love 's art 
Should stay her wings with me and make so dear 
The rude wild bowers of my demesne, nor fear 
But she should find her spirit 's counterpart. 
All day I go resolved and thinking how 
To make more sweet for her that garden place ; 
How I will pluck away the weeds, the rose 
Of Love to plant there for her nesting-bough ; 
How I will school my heart to every grace 
That it may be her home, her one repose. 



26 



"OVERLAND" PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 
I KNOW NOT HOW IT IS WITH STOU 

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 

I know not how it is with you — 

I love tin 1 first and Last, 
The whole field of the present view. 

The whole flow of the past. 

One tittle of the tilings that are, 
Nor you should change nor I — 

One pebble in our path — one star 
In all our heaven of sky. 

Our lives, and every day and hour, 

One sympathy appear : 
One road, one garden — every flower 

And every bramble dear. 



27 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 
POLITICS 

AMBROSE BIERCE 

That land full surely hastens to its end 
Where public sycophants in homage bend 
The populace to flatter, and repeat 
The doubled echoes of its loud conceit. 
Lowly their attitude but high their aim, 
They creep to eminence through paths of shame, 
Till fixed securely in the seats of pow'r, 
The dupes they flattered they at last devour. 



EL VAQUERO 

LUCIUS HARWOOD FOOTE 

Tinged with the blood of Aztec lands, 

Sphinx-like, the tawny herdsman stands, 

A coiled reata in his hands. 

Devoid of hope, devoid of fear, 

Half brigand, and half cavalier, — 

This helot, with imperial grace, 

Wears ever on his tawny face 

A sad, defiant look of pain. 

Left by the fierce iconoclast 

A living fragment of the past, — 

Greek of the Greeks he must remain. 



[28] 



"OVERLAND" PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 
CALIFORNIA SKIES 

CLARENCE nniv 

California skies : 
Balm for the ej i 
Where orange trees or redwoods rise; 

By Shasta's snow, Diego's sand 

Or old Diablo 's dream set land; 

By San Francisco Bay so bine, 
Or down sonic cypress avenue 

Near .Monterey; by lake. Sierra rimmed, 

Or yet alar in valleys vineyard trimmed; 

On plain where Ceres waves her wand. 

Or where Pomona fond 

And all her train in foothill orchards drowse 

Under low bending boughs — 

Look up ! 

And from the turquoise eup 

Drain dreams and rest! 

Ah, none SO blest 

As one who. weary of life's endless quest 

In this fair meadow, poppy pillowed, lies. 

Day dreaming 'neath these California skies — 

Balm for the eyes ! 



[29 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 
YOSEMITE 

DANIEL S. RICHARDSON 

In this deep cleft, so set apart — 

So close to Nature 's throbbing heart — 

I stand in fear, 

For God is near. 

With wondering eyes, from dizzy trails, 
I look on floods and granite vales, 

And in them see 

Divinity. 

From towering cliffs and ice-hewn crown 
The arrow-feathered pines look down 

Where God alone 

Has set His throne. 

Be still my soul ; the Presence greet. 
Unclasp the sandals from thy feet, 

For all around — 

Tis holy ground. 



JUNIPERO SERRA 

RICHARD EDWARD WHITE 

Within the ruined church at Carmel's bay, 
Beside the altar, with rank weeds o 'ergrown, 
There 's a grave unmarked with slab or stone, 
Where lies one who, lost sight of in our day, 

Yet bides his time ; and when have passed away 
Our would-be heroes, he will then be known, 
And glory 's heritage at last will own, 

His title to which no one will gainsay. 

When life was nearing to an end, 'twas here, 
Seeking repose, the Padre Serra came ; 

Of our fair land he was the pioneer : 

And if the good alone were known to fame, 

Within our hearts his memory would be dear, 
And on our lips a household word his name. 

[30] 



"OVERLAND" PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 
TO THE COLORADO DESERT 

MADGE MORKIS WAGNBB 

Thou brown, bare-breasted, voiceless mystery. 

Hot sphinx of nature, cactus-crowned, what hast thou 

done? 
Unclothed and mute as when the groans of chaos 

turned 
Thy naked burning bosom to the sun. 
The mountain silences have speech, the rivers sing. 
Thou answerest never unto anything. 
Pink-throated lizards pant in thy slim shade ; 
The homed toad runs rustling in the heat ; 
The shadowy gray coyote, born afraid, 
Steals to some brackish spring and laps, and prowls 
Away, and howls and howls and howls and howls. 
Until the solitude is shaken with an added loneliness. 
Thy sharp mescal shoots up a giant stalk, 
Its century of yearning, to the sunburnt skies, 
And drips rare honey from the lips 
Of yellow waxen flowers, and dies. 
Some lengthwise sun-dried shapes with feet and 

hands 
And thirsty mouths pressed on the sweltering sands, 
Mark here and there a gruesome graveless spot 
Where some one drank thy scorching hotness, and is 

not. 
God must have made thee in his anger, and forgot. 



[31 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



MUSIC 

EDWARD ROBESON TAYLOR 

The murmurous monotone of waving grain 

When winds are gently winging down the vale ; 
The storm-voiced billows drowning men bewail ; 
The pattering stroke of softly falling rain : 

The sighing leaves that bend to every tale 
The breezes tell; the songster's lilting strain, 
From feeblest note of all the joyful train 
To rapturous burst of peerless nightingale ; — 

What are all these, and all that human ear 
In sweetest concord from their kin can hear, 
But hints of deeper rhythms as yet unheard ; 

That in the soul ineffable of things 

An ordered Music, by the eternal word, 
Throughout the vast of space divinely sings. 



MANKIND 

JOAQUIN MILLER 

In men whom men pronounce divine, 
I find so much of sin and blot ; 
In men whom men denounce as ill 
I find so much of goodness still, 
I hesitate to draw the line 
Between the two, when God has not. 



32 



OVERLAND" rElilOD 1869 To issu 



INDIRECTION 

RICHARD BKALiF 

Fair arc the flowers and the children, bul their 

subtle suggestion is fain 
Rare is the roseburst of dawn, bul the secret that 

clasps it is rarer; 
Sweet the exultance of song, but the strain that 

precedes it is sweeter: 

And never was poem yet writ, lmt the meaning 
outmastered the meter 

Never a daisy that gTOWS, but a mystery guideth 
the growing; 

Never a river that flows, hut a majesty scepters 
the flowing; 

Never a Shakespeare that soared, hut a stronger 

than lie did enfold him. 
Nor ever a prophet foretells, hut a mightier seer 

hath foretold him. 



Back of the canvas that throbs the painter is 

hinted and hidden ; 
Into the statue that breathes the soul of the sculptor 

is bidden ; 
Under the joy that is felt lie the infinite issues of 

feeling • 
Crowning the glory revealed is the glory that 

crowns the revealing. 

Great arc the symbols of being, but that which is 

symboled is <_rreater ; 
Vast the create and beheld, but vaster the inward 

creator: 
Rack of the sound broods the silence, back of the 

£ift stands the giving : 
Back of the hand that receives thrill the sensitive 

nerves of receiving. 

[33 1 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



Space is as nothing to spirit, the deed is outdone 

by the doing ; 

heart of the wooing ; 
And up from the pits where these shiver, and up 
The heart of the wooer is warm, but warmer the 

from the heights where those shine, 
Twin voices and shadows swim starward, and the 

essence of life is divine. 



CHRISTMAS IN CALIFORNIA 

EDWARD ROWLAND SILL 

Can this be Christmas — sweet as May, 
With drowsy sun, and dreamy air, 

And new grass pointing out the way 
For flowers to follow, everywhere ? 

Has time grown sleepy at his post, 
And let the exiled Summer back, 

Or is it her regretful ghost, 
Or witchcraft of the almanac 1 



Before me, on the wide, warm bay, 
A million azure ripples run ; 

Round me the sprouting palm-shoots lay 
Their shining lances to the sun. 

With glossy leaves that poise or swing, 
The callas their white cups unfold, 

And faintest chimes of odor ring 

From silver bells with tongues of gold, 

A languor of deliciousness 

Fills all the sea-enchanted clime ; 

And in the blue heavens meet, and kiss, 
The loitering clouds of summer-time. 

[34] 



ERRATUM. — Page 34. Verse at head of this page should 
read as follows: 

Space is as nothing to spirit, the deed is outdone 

by the doing ; 
The heart of the wooer is warm, but warmer the 

heart of the wooing ; 
And up from the pits where these shiver, and up 

from the heights where those shine, 
Twin voices and shadows swim starward, and the 

essence of life is divine. 



"OVERLAND" rEUKW 1869 TO 1889 



LUKE 

V. BUT SAB 

Wot's that you're readin'? — a novel? A novel, — 

well, dern my skin! 
You a man grown and bearded and hist in' such 

stntV ez that in, — 
Stuff about Lials and their sweethearts! No wonder 

you're thin ez a knife. 
Look at me ! — elar two hundred, — and never read 

one in my life ! 

That's my opinion o' novels. And ez to their 

lyin' round here, 
They belonged to the Jedge's daughter, — the Jedge 

who came up last year 
On account of his lungs and the mountains and 

the balsam o' pine and fir; 
And his daughter, — well, she read novels, and 

that's what's the matter with her. 

she allers was sweet on the Jedge, and she 

stuck by him day and night, 
Alone in the cabin up yer, — till she grew like a 

ghost, all white. 
She wus only a slip of a thing, ez light and ez up 

and away 
Ez rifle-smoke blown through the woods, but she 

wasn't my kind, — no way! 

Speaking o' gale, d'ye mind that house ex yon 

rise the hill, 
A mile and a half from White's, and jist above 

Mattingly'fl mill? 
You do? Well now thor'i B gal ! What, yon saw 

hert Oh. come now. thar, quit ! 
She was only bedevilin' you boys, for to me the 

don't cotton one bit. 

[35] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



Now she's what I call a gal, — ez pretty and plump 

ez a quail ; 
Teeth ez white ez a hound's and they'd go through 

a tenpenny nail ; 
Eyes that kin snap like a cap. So she asked to 

know ' ' whar I was hid. ' ' 
She did ! Oh, it's jist like her sass, for she's peart 

ez a Katy-did. 

But what was I talking of ? — Oh, the Jedge and 

his daughter, — she read 
Novels the whole day long, and I reckon she read 

them abed, 
And sometimes she read them out loud to the Jedge 

on the porch where he sat, 
And 't was how "Lord Augustus" said this, and 

how "Lady Blanche" she said that. 

But the sickest of all that I heerd, was a yarn thet 

they read 'bout a chap, 
"Leather-stocking" by name, and a hunter chock 

full o ' the greenest o ' sap ; 
And they asked me to hear, but I says, ' ' Miss 

Mabel, not any for me ; 
When I likes I kin sling my own lies, and thet chap 

and I shouldn 't agree. ' ' 

Yet somehow or other she was always savin ' I 

brought her to mind 
Of folks about whom she had read, or suthin belike 

of thet kind, 
And thar warn't no end o' the names that she give 

me thet summer up there, 
"Robin Hood," "Leather-stocking," "Rob Roy," 

— Oh, I tell you, the critter was queer. 

And yet ef she hadn't been spiled, she was harmless 

enough in her way. 
She could jabber in French to her dad, and they 

said that she knew how to play, 

[36 1 



OVERLAND" PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 



And she worked Die that shot-pouch Up thar, — 
which the man doesn't live ez kin use, 

And slippers — you Bee 'em down yer - ez would 

cradle an [njin's pappo< 

Yet along o' them novels, you see she was wast in' 

and mopin' away, 

And then she got shy with her tongue, and .'it last 

she had QOthin' to say ; 
And whenever I happened around, her face it was 

hid by a hook. 
And it was n't until she left that she give me ez 
much ez a look. 

And this was the way it was. It was night when 

I kern up here 
To say to 'em all "good by," for I reckoned to go 

for deer 
At '"sun up" the day they left. So I shook 'em all 

round by the hand, 
'Cept Mabel, and she was sick, ez they give me to 

understand. 

But jist ez I passed the house next morning at 

dawn, some one. 
Like a little waver o' mist, got up on the hill with 

the sun ; 
Miss Mabel it was. all alone, — wrapped up in a 

mantle o' lace, — 
And sh<- stood there straight in the road, with a 

touch o' the sun in her t'aee. 

And she looked me right in the eye. — I'd seen 

suthin like it before 
When I hunted a wounded doe to the edge o' the 

Clear Lake shore. 
And T had my knee <>n its neck, and jist was a 

raisin' my knife 
When it give me a h>ok like that, and— well, it got 

off with its life. 

[37] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



' ' We are going to-day, ' ' she said, ' ' and I thought 

I would say good-by 
To you in your own house, Luke, — these woods, 

and the bright blue sky ! 
You 've always been kind to us, Luke, and papa 

has found you still 
As good as the air he breathes, and wholesome as 

Laurel Tree Hill. 

' ' And we '11 always think of you, Luke, as the thing 

we could not take away ; 
The balsam that dwells in the woods, the rainbow 

that lives in the spray. 
And you'll sometimes think of me, Luke, as you 

know you once used to say, 
A rifle-smoke blown through the woods, a moment, 

but never to stay. ' ' 

And then we shook hands. She turned, but 

a-suddent she tottered and fell, 
And I caught her sharp by the waist, and held her 

a minit, — well, 
It was only a minit, you know, that ez cold and ez 

white she lay 
Ez a snow-flake here on my breast, and then — 

well, she melted away — 

And was gone . . . And thar are her books ; but 

I says not any for me, 
Good enough may be for some, but them and I 

might n't agree. 
They spiled a decent gal ez might hev made some 

chap a wife, 
And look at me ! — clar two hundred, — and never 

read one in my life ! 



[38 



"OVERLAND" PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 
THE COMET 

CHABLBS WABBEN STODDAKI) 

Was it a star. 

Or was it a pearl, 
Loosed with a jar 

From its setting 
I' the coronet moon, 
And begetting, 
As it fell with a whirl — 
Whirling far — 
A splendor that faded too soon I 

Was it a dream 

Of some splendid star born, 
That glowed with a gleam 
And a quiver 
That startled t lie night? 
Like a river 
That flowed to the moon 
It did seem. 
In its luminous, lustrous Light. 

Was it a gem 

Transfixed with a ray 
From the burning, bright hem 
Of the wondrous, 
Terrible sun, or the moon ? 
Over us, under us. 
Nor night, no, nor day 
Hath its equal, bright gem, 
Fair feather of light flown too soon. 



39 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 
BELLE OF MONTEREY 

EINNIM HAVEMEYER TUCKER 

In the old and timeworn casa 

With its white adobe walls, 
The court with its wild grown flowers, 

And the stone-paved Spanish halls, 

She lives — the slim, dark woman 
With the pale Madonna face, 

And the brown hands ever weaving, 
Fold on fold of cobweb lace. 

From the town of San Francisco, 
To the shores of Carmel Bay, 

She was known ' ' Donna Maria ' ' 
As the "Belle of Monterey." 

The man whose youth had left him, 
The boy with fresh, fair face 

And the dark browed Hidalgo 

Strove to find in her heart his place. 

But though her lovers were legion, 
There was one apart from the rest. 

And of all the gay throng 'round her, 
She loved that man the best. 

But his home was not in the West-lands 
And his heart was with his home. 

So Donna Maria in her casa 
Lives year after year alone. 

And yesterday we found her 
With her inborn Spanish grace. 

She showed us her flower garden, 
And the quaint old foreign place. 

[401 



' OVERLAND " PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 



She brought out all her treasures, 

And from wrappings yellowed by time, 

Then' came that aroma of roniain 
Born only by Spain's sunny clinic. 

The rebosas, tin* old mantillas, 
Fans, jewels, and rare fine lace, 

Told more of the past and its memories, 
Than that calm, passionless face. 

So to the treasured mementoes, 
She clings — the last of her race — 

And will die where she passed her girlhood 
Of her story leaving no trace. 

She waved us a last "Adois" 

From the casa's open door, 
Round which the tall, grim cacti 

Stood like sentinels of war. 

And her words like vespers linger, 
With the spell that about her lay 

Sweet, courtly Donna Maria 
The once ' ' Belle of Monterey. ' ' 



[41] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



"THE PRIDE OF BATTERY B" 

FRANK H. GASSAWAY 

South Mountain towered on our right, 

Far off the river lay, 
And over on the wooded height 

We held their lines at bay. 

At last the mutt 'ring guns were stilled, 

The day died slow and wan. 
At last the gunners ' pipes were filled, 

The Sergeant's yarns began. 

When, — as the wind a moment blew 

Aside the fragrant flood 
Our brierwoods raised, — within our view 

A little maiden stood. 

A tiny tot of six or seven, 

From fireside fresh she seemed. 
Of such a little one in heaven 

I know one soldier dreamed. 

And, as we stared, her little hand 

Went to her curly head 
In grave salute. ' ' And who are you ? ' ' 

At length the Sergeant said. 

"And where's your home?" he growled again. 

She lisped out, ' ' Who is me ? 
Why, don 't you know ? I 'm little Jane, 

The Pride of Battery 'B.' 

My home ? why, that was burned away, 

And pa and ma are dead, 
And so I ride the guns all day 

Along with Sergeant Ned, 

[42] 



" OVERLAND " PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 



And I've a dram that's not a toy, 

A cap with feathers, too, 
And I march beside the drummer boy 

On Sundays at review; 

Hut now our Dacca's all give Out, 
The men can't have their smoke. 

And so they're cross why. even Ned 
Won't play with me and joke. 

And the big Colonel said to-day — 
I hate to hear him swear — 

He 'd give a leg for a good smoke 
Like the Yanks had over there. 

And so I thought when beat the drum, 
And the big guns were still, 

I 'd creep beneath the tent and come 
Out here across the hill, 

And beg, good Mister Yankee men, 
You 'd give me some Lone Jack, 

Please do — when we get some again 
I'll surely bring it back. 

Indeed I will, for Ned — says he — 

If I do what I say 
I'll be a General yet, may be, 

And ride a prancing bay." 

We brimmed her tiny apron o'er. 
You should have heard her lauirh 

As each man from his scanty store 
Shook out a gen'rous half. 

We gave her escort, till good-night 

The little waif we bid. 
Then watched her toddle out of Bight ; 

( >r else 'twas tears that hid 
[43] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



Her baby form, nor turned about 

A man, nor spoke a word 
Till after while a far, faint shout 

Upon the wind we heard ! 

We sent it back — then cast sad eye 

Upon the scene around. 
A baby's hand had touched the tie 

That brothers once had bound. 

That's all — save when the dawn awoke 

Again the work of hell. 
And through the sullen clouds of smoke 

The screaming missiles fell ; 

Our General often rubbed his glass, 

And marveled much to see 
Not a single shell that whole day fell 

In the lines of Battery "B !" 



THE CELESTIAL SURGEON 

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 

If I have faltered more or less 
In my great task of happiness ; 
If I have moved among my race 
And shown no glorious morning face ; 
If beams from happy human eyes 
Have moved me not ; if morning skies, 
Books, and my food, and summer rain 
Knocked on my sullen heart in vain :— 
Lord, Thy most pointed pleasure take 
And stab my spirit broad awake ; 
Or, Lord, if too obdurate I, 
Choose Thou, before that spirit die, 
A piercing pain, a killing sin, 
And to my dead heart run them in ! 

[44] 



PRESENT PERIOD 

1890 to 1915 

INVOCATION TO CALIFORNIA 

CHABLKS KEELEB 

Guerdon of gold of the sun is thy treasure 
From glist'ning Sierra to foam of the ocean, 

With fair flower-children in hosts beyond measure 
To yield thee their beauty with boundless 
devotion ! 

Royal the reaches of wheat in the valley! 

Abundance has Messed the wide wastes of the 
plain. 
And hosts of the strong-handed harvesters rally 

At dawn-flush to garner the glittering grain. 

Full hang thy orchards with fruitage of summer, 
Thy citrons 'mid blossoms bless winter and 
spring, 
But autumn, the radiant year-cycle's last comer, 
Bears, clustered in purple, the grape which is 
king. 

Gold, in thy rock-girded fastnesses hidden, 

The magic of science shall wrest from its store ; 
Insatiate progress, advancing, has bidden 
That bounty of earth be for man evermore: 

For man as a trust and a torch, not to squander 
In riotous revel through profit less years, 

But a power that bids him to pause and to ponder 
On being and beauty, on triumph and tears! 

Here, here where the 1 C freedom are blowing, 

Shall beauty hurst into full fiow'rage to-day. 
And the will to do right shall, in proud hearts, be 

growing, 
With might to command and with strength to 

ob< 

T 45 1 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



THE BLACK VULTURE 

GEORGE STERLING 

Aloof upon the day 's immeasured dome, 

He holds unshared the silence of the sky. 

Far down his bleak, relentless eyes descry 
The eagle 's empire and the falcon 's home — 
Far down, the galleons of sunset roam ; 

His hazards on the sea of morning lie ; 

Serene, he hears the broken tempest sigh 
Where cold sierras gleam like scattered foam. 

And least of all he holds the human swarm — 
Unwitting now that envious men prepare 
To make their dream and its fulfilment one, 
When, poised above the caldrons of the storm, 
Their hearts, contemptuous of death, shall dare 
His roads between the thunder and the sun. 



RESURGAM 

DAVID LESSER LEZINSKY 

Ye days of April came so sweet — 
I seemed to hear the flowers ' feet 
Come running upward 'neath the sod- 
Yearning to lift their heads to God 1 
The days of April. 



[46 



PRESENT ri:/:ioi> ro 1915 



JUST CALIFORNIA 

JOHN S. McGROARTY 

'Twixt the seas and the deserts. 

Twixt the wastes and the waves, 
Between the sands of buried lands 

And the ocean 's coral caves, 
It lies not East nor West, 

Hut like a scroll unfurled, 
Where the hand of God hath hung it, 

Down the middle of the world. 

It lies where God hath spread it. 

In the gladness of his eyes, 
Like a flame of jeweled tapestry 

Beneath His shining skies. 
With the green of woven meadows, 

And the hills in golden chains, 
The light of leaping rivers, 

And the flash of poppied plains. 

Days rise that gleam in glory, 

Days die with sunset's breeze, 
While from Cathay that was of old 

Sail countless argosies ; 
Morns break again in splendor 

O'er the giant, new-born West, 
But of all the lands God fashioned, 

'Tis this land is the best. 

Sun and dews that kiss it. 

Balmy winds that blow, 
The stars in clustered diadems 

Upon its peaks of snow ; 
The mighty mountains o'er it. 

Below, the white seas swirled — 
Just California stretching down 

The middle of the world. 



[47 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



THE HAPPIEST HEART 

JOHN VANCE CHENEY 

Who drives the horses of the sun 
Shall lord it but a day ; 
Better the lowly deed were done, 
And kept the humble way, 

The rust will find the sword of fame, 
The dust will hide the crown ; 
Ay, none shall nail so high his name 
Time will not tear it down. 

The happiest heart that ever beat 
Was in some quiet breast 
That found the common daylight sweet, 
And left to Heaven the rest. 



THE CREED OF DESIRE 

BRUCE PORTER 

Still to be sure of the dawn — 

Still to be glad for the sea — 
Still to know fire of the blood : 

God keep these gifts in me ! 

Then — I shall cleave the dark ! 

Then, I shall breast the redoubt ! 
Then I shall glory the Lord — 

And go down to the grave with a shout ! 



48] 



PRESENT VllUlOD 1890 TO 1915 



TO SAN FRANCISCO 

S A] Ml' EL JOHN ALEXANDER 

If we dreamed that we Loved Her aforetime, 'twas the 

ghost of a dream ; Cor I vow 
By the Bplendour of Gk)d in the highest, we never have 

Loved Her till now. 
When Love bears the trumpet of Honour, oh, highest 

and clearesl he calls, 
With the Light of the flaming of towers, and the 

and of the rending of walls. 
When Love wears the purple of Sorrow, and kneels 

al the altar of Grief, 
Of the flowers thai spring in his footsteps, the white 

flower of Service is chief. 
As a flower on the snow of Her bosom, as a star in 

the night of Her hair, 
We bring to our Mother such token as the time and 

elements spare. 

If we dreamed that we loved Her aforetime, adoring 

we kneel to Her now. 
When th<> golden fruit of the ages falls, swept by the 

wind from the bough. 
The beautiful dwelling is shattered, wherein, as a 

queen at the feast. 
In gems of the barbaric tropics and silks of the 

ultimate East. 
Our Mother sat throned and triumphant, with the 

wise and the great in their day. 
They were captains, and princes, and rulers; but 

She. She was greater than they. 

We are sprung from the builders of nations; by the 

als of our fathers we swear, 
By the depths of the deeps thai surround Her, by the 

height of the heights she may dare, 
Though the Twelve league in compact against Her, 

though the - cvy OUl in their wrath. 

[49] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



Though the earth gods, grown drunk of their fury, 
fling the hilltops abroad in Her path, 

Our Mother of masterful children shall sit on Her 
throne as of yore, 

With Her old robes of purple about Her, and crowned 
with the crowns that She wore. 

She shall sit at the gates of the world, where the 

nations shall gather and meet, 
And the East and the West at Her bidding shall lie 

in a leash at Her feet. 



THE SHRINE OF SONG 

LOUIS ALEXANDER ROBERTSON 

In mute amazement oft I pause before 

The portals of Song's shrine and list to those 
Whose music from its classic cloisters flows 

Adown the tide of Time for evermore. 

I see the place that no man may explore, 
Save him whose Art its life to Genius owes, 
On whose rapt lips the sacred cinder glows 

That teaches Song 's sweet shibboleth and lore. 

Ah, it were heaven to enter in and kneel 
In some dim aisle, unnoticed and apart, 
With thirsting soul to drink the sounds 
that shame 
My songs to silence ; then to rise and feel 
That my untutored lips had learnt the art 
That seats the singer in the House of Fame ! 



[50] 



PRESENT PERIOD 1890 TO 1915 
THE ROSARY 

ROBERT GAMEBON ROOSBB 

The hours I spent with thee, dear heart, 
Are as a string of pearls to me: 

I count them over every one apart, 
My Rosary, my Rosary. 

Each hour a pearl, each pear] a prayer. 

To still a heart m absence wrung: 
I tell each head unto the end. 

And there a cross is hung! 

memories that bless and hum! 
barren gain and hitter loss! 

1 kiss each head, and strive at last to learn 
To kiss the cross; sweetheart ! to kiss the 

cross. 



LINES 

YONE NOGUCIII 

I love the saintly chant of the winds touching their 
odorous fingers to the harp of the angel, spring; 

I love the undiscording sound of thousands of birds, 
whose concord of song echoes on the rivulet afar 

I muse on the solemn mountain which waits in sound 
content for the time when the Lord calls forth ; 

I roam with the wings of high-raised fantasy in the 
pure I'n i verse; 

Oh, I chant of the Garden of Adam and Eve! 



51 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 

THE OLD BROOCH 

Written first in Spanish and then Englished by 

CHARLES F. LUMMIS 

"Ensuefio," osito osado, 
Dime, £que vayas pensando, 
Negrito bendito y feliz, 
Alii donde estas reposando, 
Tu con la Emperatriz? 
Dime, (que ya me deliro) — 
<iQue esta tu Almohada sonando? 
<iA ti una lagrima dando — 
Y al Oso Mayor un suspiro? 



Little jet bear on a bed of snow, 
What are you thinking? As I would think 
If I were trembling on that dear brink? 
Or are you dizzy as I would be there? 
What do you wonder? What do you know? 
Are you too happy to know or wonder — 
Her throat above you, her bosom under? 
Tell, me, what is your Pillow dreaming? 
Catch you ever a tear to drink? 
Ever a sigh or a flutter, seeming 
Maybe a Memory stirred for me there? 



52 



PRESENT PERIOD 1*90 TO 1915 
THE WOLVES OF THE SKA 

HEBBSBT BASH FORD 

From dusk until dawn they are hurrying on, 

[Jnfetterd and fearless they flee ; 
Prom morn until eve they plunder and thieve — 

The hungry, white wolves of the Sea! 

With never a rest, they race to the west, 

To the Orient's rim do they run; 
By the berg and the Hoe of the northland they 

go 

And away to the isles of the sun. 

They wail at the moon from the desolate dune 
Till the air has grown dank with their breath; 

They snarl at the stars from the treacherous 
bars 
Of the coasts that are haunted by Death. 

They grapple and bite in a keen, mad delight 
As they feed on the bosom of Grief ; 

And one steals away to a cave with his prey, 
And one to the rocks of the reef. 

With the froth on their lips they follow the 
ships, 
Each striving to lead in the chase ; 
Since loosed by the hand of the King of their 
band 
They have known but the rush of the race. 

They are shaggy and old. vet as mighty and 
bold 

As when God's freshest gale set them fn 
Not a sail is unfurled in a port of | the world 

But is prey for the wolves of the Sea! 



[53] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



A DREAM OF BEAUTY 

CLARK ASHTON SMITH 

I dreamed that each most lovely, perfect thing 
That Nature hath, of sound, and form, and 

hue — 
The winds, the grass, the light-concentering 
dew, 
The gleam and swiftness of the sea-bird 's wing ; 
Blueness of sea and sky, and gold of storm 
Transmuted by the sunset, and the flame 
Of autumn-colored leaves, before me came, 
And, meeting, merged to one diviner form. 

Incarnate Beauty 'twas, whose spirit thrills 
Through glaucous ocean and the greener hills, 
And in the cloud-bewildered peaks is pent. 

Like some descended star she hovered o 'er, 
But as I gazed, in doubt and wonderment, 
Mine eyes were dazzled, and I saw no more. 



WOMEN'S EYES 

ARTHUR WILLIAM RYDER 

The world is full of women's eyes, 
Defiant, filled with shy surprise, 
Demure, a little overfree, 
Or simply sparkling roguishly ; 
It seems a gorgeous lily-bed, 
Whichever way I turn my head. 



[ 54 | 



PRESENT PERIOD 1890 TO 1915 
THE GOBLIN LAUGH 

HI) WIN MA BE 1 1 AM 

When I behold how men and women grind 
And grovel for some place of pomp or power. 
To shine and circle through a crumbling hour, 

Forgetting the Large mansions of the mind. 
That arc the rest and shelter of mankind ; 

And when I see them come with wearied hrains 
Pallid and powerless to enjoy their gains, 
I seem to hear a goblin Laugh unwind. 

And then a memory sends upon its billow 
Thoughts of a singer wise enough to play. 
Who took life as a lightsome holiday : 
Oft have I seen him make his arm a pillow, 
Drink from his hand, and with a pipe of willow 
Blow a wild music down a woodland way. 



[55 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



THE AWAKENING 

CHRISTIAN BINKLEY 

I see the mystery of life anew, 

Bright angels have passed by me : I haye heard 

A whirr of wings, and voices in adieu. 

Now all that seems is hushed, scarcely are stirred 

The curtains of the soul, and all things seem 

Brooding, and big with portents like the night. 

But now I thought I saw the distant gleam 

Of angel pinions in the western light, 

And heard the fading music : then it rolled 

In floods of living sound ; and as they swept 

Around, in whispered awe they spoke and told 

The secrets of the universe. I kept 

The fragments that I heard : now all things are 

Lit with a glory not of sun or star. 



A NOSEGAY 

AUGUSTIN S. MACDONALD 

Of mignonette, a soft sweet spray, 
Violets smile a sunbeam's ray, 
Pansies mingled, for a thought — 
Something that cannot be bought. 
All delicately as the fragrance, 
Exhale his love 's heartfelt cadence. 



[56 



PRESENT PERIOD 1890 TO 1915 
APPEARANCES 

WILLIAM SBNB1 HUDSON 

In the city of m> dreams, 
Where at times I dwell apart, 

Nothing is. hut only seems — 
In the city of my dreams. 

And I find them lovelier far, 

Deep within my secret heart, 
Thing! that seem than things that are — 
Yes. I find them lovelier far! 

T am glad that in my dreams 
Nothing is, mil only seems ! 



THE GRAVE OF POMPEY 

SISTER ANTHONY, S. N. D. 

A wave-scarred rock heside a stranger sea. 
The nigged sculpture of a fettered hand, 
A Name, rude lettering from a smoking brand. 

•' Ma</ nns!" Sublime its silent mockery. 

And this the End! The triumph car, the train 
Of weary captives and the clamorous throng 

Up the broad streets; the Senate's proud acclaim; 
The storied Column, writ with woe and wrong; 

The breathing marble, and the drooping bay. 

And the last heart -throes of the Nation's pain, 

This, this the Wndl Come ye who look to Fame 
Come, I 'ride of Power, and gaze on Destiny. 

Only the drifting of the desert sand, 
Only the moan of the eternal Sea. 



[57 






VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



VIVEROLS 

DAVID STARR JORDAN 



Beyond the sea, I know not where, 
There is a town called Viverols ; 
I know not if 'tis near or far, 
I know not what its features are, 
I only know 'tis Viverols. 

I know not if its ancient walls 
By vine and moss be overgrown ; 

I know not if the night-owl calls 
From feudal battlements of stone 
Inhabited by him alone ; 

I know not if mid meadow-lands 
Knee-deep in corn stands Viverols ; 

I know not if prosperity 

Has robbed its life of poesy. 
It could not be in Viverols, 
They would not call it Viverols. 

Perchance upon its terraced heights 

The grapes grow purple in the sun ; 
Or down its wild untrodden crags, 
Its broken cliffs and frost-bit jags, 
The mountain brooks unfettered run. 

I cannot fancy Viverols 

A place of gaudy pomp and show, 
A "Grand Establishment des Eaux," 
Where to win back their withered lives 

The roues of the city go. 

Nor yet a place where poverty 
No ray of happiness lets in ; 
Where wanders hopeless beggary 
Mid scenes of sorrow, want and sin, 
It cannot be in Viverols, 
There's life and cheer in Viverols! 

r 58 1 



PRESENT PERIOD 1890 TO 1915 



Perhaps among the clouds it Lies 
Mid vapors out from Dreamland blown; 

Built up from vague remembrance! 

That never yet had form in stone 
lis oastlee built of cloud alone. 

I only know, should you and I 

Through its old walls of crumbling stone 
With moss and ivy overgrown 

Together wander all alone. 

No spot on Earth could be more fair 

Than ivy-covered Viverols; 
rasa be greener anywhere 
No bluer sky, nor softer air 

Than we should find in Viverols, 

Together find in Viverols. 

Love, we may wander far or near, 

The sun shines o'er Viverols, 
Green is the grass, the skies are clear : 
No clouds obscure our pathway, dear, 

Where Love is there is Viverols, 

There is no other Viverols. 



59] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



A MEMORY 

CAROLUS AGER (CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD) 

October fulness in field and flowers, 

The ebbing tide of the summer time 
In mellow music of days and hours 

That beat in rhythm and blend in rhyme ; 
Leaves that tremble before their turning, 

The green that fades and the gold that grows, 
A stifled brook, and a throb of yearning 

In all that changes for all that goes ! 



A TOAST 

GELETT BURGESS 

Here's to the cause, let who will get the glory ! 
Here's to the cause, and a fig for the story ! 
The braggarts may tell it, who serve but for fame ; 
There'll be more than enough that will die for the 

name! 
And though, in some eddy, our vessels, unsteady, 
Be stranded and wrecked, ere the victory's won, 
Let the current sweep by us ! death ! Come and 

try us ! 
What if laggards win praise, if the cause shall go on ? 



[60 



PRESENT PERIOD 1S90 TO 1915 
TO THE AVERAGE MAN 

WALLACE IKW IN 

The Average Man wears the average clothes 

And the average hal on his head; 
He eats al a table and sits on a chair 

And (normally) sleeps on a bed ; 

For he scorns the eccentric, and never would dare 
To sleep on a tabic or eat on a chair. 

The Average Man seeks tin- corner saloon 

Omeric ref reshmenl to find; 
But, shunning the tipple, he wanders to church 

Where lie is devoutly inclined — 
Xor does he expect to find whiskey or dice 
In the place that is famed for religions advice. 

The Average Man says the average things 

And sings just the average songs; 
He's deucedly fond of the Average Girl, 

For whom he unceasingly Longs — 

And his vices and virtues, too many to tell, 
Are oddly at odds— hnt they average well. 

statistics declare that the Average Man 

Finds the Average Woman and mates; 
That the Average Family, children all told. 

Is something like two and three-eighths. 

(Though fractional children disturb and appal. 
The Average Man isn'1 worried at all.) 

The Average Man reads the average books, 

And sometimes he writes 'em, I bear; 
He's neither ;1 genius, a knave, nor a fool. 
In fact he despises the queer : 

For if he departed the Average Plan 

l\^\\ c.^ise to !.-• known as tic Average Man. 

[61] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



But deep in the breast of the Average Man 

The passions of ages are swirled, 
And the loves and the hates of the Average Man 

Are old as the heart of the world — 
For the thought of the Race, as we live and we 

die, 
Is in keeping the Man and the Average high. 



TWILIGHT TOWN 

RALPH ERWIN GIBBS 

Oh, Twilight Town is the other side 

Of the Hills of the Sunset Light ! 
Just on the shore of the Sleepy Tide, 
Where the weird dream-ships at anchor ride, 

Till they sail away at night. 

They sail away over the slumber sea, 

And the pilot ? None can tell. 
But who may the crew and the passengers be ? 
There's Tommy and Elsie, and several wee 

Little scamps that we know well. 

With the whitest of carpets the decks are spread 

And guarded with golden rails ; 
Old Santa Claus is the figurehead, — 
And soft by a lullaby air they 're sped 

That billows the misty sails. 






[62 



PRESENT PERIOD 1890 TO 1915 

GROWTH OF THE SOUL 

.IA.MKS IIKNKY M LOLAFPEBTY 

Climb from the depths of the valley's chill, 

Out of the shadows thai lurk below. 
Nurse at the breasl of the throbbing hill, 

Grow iu thy day as the tall trees ^i'ow. 
This, Soul of Mine, be thy constant cry; 
This, my Soul, is to never die. 

Whence earnest thou ? — Give it little thought ! 

Whither! — Ah, let this concern thee more! 
Into this state thou art blindly brought ; 

Out of it see but an open door. 
Once past the portal, perhaps 't will be 
Growth of today will have made thee free. 



TO MY INK-WELL 

LIONEL JOfiAFHABE 

Thou blotty bottle, bottle stained and grim, 

Thou imp, thou gnome, a moody friend art thou. 
And yet thyself 1 would not trade, I vow, 

For golden ink-decanter with a rim 

Of pearls and decorations wreathed and slim. 
Now tell me. ngly boy with inky brow, 
Of some unwritten thoughts, which you allow 

To dream awhile within your tranquil brim. 

How T many black imaginings are there 
Waiting to crawl out for my livelihood? 

Phantasmas, whims, a poet's morbid ware. 

Capricious thoughts, perhaps misunderstood? — 

All liquid yet and blended in their well ; 

Some will be born ; how many, who can tell? 



[63] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 
TO A STAR-FLOWER 

EDWARD HOWARD GRIGGS 

Dear little star-flower abloom at my feet, 
What are you waiting for, what is it, Sweet ? 
Is the ceaseless glare of the sun a pain ? 
Do you long for a sip of the cool, moist rain ? 

There are star-flowers, Dear, in the human world,- 
Children with angel wings half furled, 
Who find like you that the sun shines strong, 
Who at times like you for the soft rain long. 

There are children, Sweet, of an older age, 
Who have watched life 's miracles stage by stage, 
To whom the day seems blank and bare. 
And the night and the rain-drops sweet and fair. 

For the road of pain outstretches long, 

The end must come to the sweetest song, 

And the only check to the tears we weep 

Is the thought that night will come — and sleep ! 



64 



PRESENT PERIOD 1890 TO 1915 
LITTLE MEMORIES 

NORA MAY FRENCH 

My thoughts of you . . . although I strain and sigh 
At stubborn ro<.ts, at boughs thai tear my face, 

No plants in all my garden grow so high, 
Nor till with sturdier life a wider plaee. 

It pleases me, and wakes an old delight, 
To go with wordy shears in idle times 
And trim them as a patient gardener might, 

Clipping the thorny boughs to curves and rhymes. 

It these won- alb opposing strength with strength 

To make my hurl an easier thing to bear; 
If these alone usurped my garden's length, 

It would not be bo hard— I should not care. 

But close against the ground, oh. small and weak! 

The trodden flowers, the little memories, gTOW. 
Uprooting fingers press them to my cheek. . . . 
Dear heart, I love you. and 1 miss you so. 



THE DIFFERENCE 

aioistix s. ICAODONALD 

Commerce, born of selfish struggle, 

Once met Worship as a saint. 
With his bluff he SOUght to juggle, 

God's truth won without restraint. 



65 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



LYRIC 

HOWARD V. SUTHERLAND 

sweet my loved one, hear my prayer, 
Be thou mine own and love me ! 

So dear art thou, so proud, so fair — 
Alas, so far above me. 

Yet thou, perchance, dear heart, wilt deign 

To soothe a heart long steeped in pain, 

For pity is a maiden 's gain — 
sweet my loved one, hear ! 

So oft I 've prayed, my heart is sore. 

When far from thee I sorrow, 
And yet, alas, it pains me more 

To meet thee on the morrow. 
Ah, would that I were fondly pressed 
'Against thy true, all sacred breast, 
Then, then, ah then, might I find rest — 

sweet my loved one, hear ! 



[66 



PRESENT I'Elilon 1890 TO 1915 



NIRVANA 

BERNARD WESTERN \x\ 

There is Amida. sublime and high, 
Who far in a Daimyo's garden stands. 

Byea half closed, he has crossed his hands; 

He waits for nothing, he cannot die. 

lie has tasted and drunk of the wines of life, 

Of every passion and conquered each. 
Till a silent power has changed the strife 

To the sentient calm that the soul may reach. 



RETROSPECTION' 

.JAMES ROWBIXS 

Front flu hilltops at sunset, Golden Gate. 

Deep in the pitying bosom of the sea, 

Ebbs fast the glory of a dying day. 

And on the giant battlements 

That guard these glowing portals of the night, 

Another niche appears, full chiseled, deep. 

How many fateful names enregistered 

In burning letters on that scroll of Time. 

But what of it — AVhat matters that 
The chastened page he rudely blotted out 
By hands that ever faltered as they wrote; 
That ere the cruel ink was scarcely i]vy. 
Hot tears erased the shameful entr 

Nay the thing has passed 

And deep within the glowing embers lies 

The substance — and the form 

Ethereal shapes assume that seem, withal. 

On golden pinions to have taken flight 

And vanished with the spirits of the oight. 

[67] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



TITANS OF EARTH 

Sierran Summits 

HAROLD SYMMES 

Peak upon peak uptowering, these mountain giants 

rise, 
Piercing with their summits the far cerulean skies,- 
Mighty shouldered Titans relentlessly uphurled 
In the grinding pack and pressure that, battling, 

builds the world. 
With slow corroding fingers Time wears their 

bastions low, 
Wreathing the gaping gashes with garlands of her 

snow. 



QUATRAIN 

STANLY COGHILL 

A burst of song melodious and wild ; 
A rush of angels through the waiting air ; 
A flash of light breaking the growing dark ; 
And then a death like calm, and then Thy face. 



68 



PRESENT PERIOD 1890 TO 1915 



SONNET 

BENEDETTO DI &4U88UBE BLANDING 

Because your thoughts have made my flowers more 

fair, 
My sun more golden and my heaven more blue. 
Have made me feel that Nature still is true 
Beneath the hostile frown she oft doth wear; 

Because your Bong lias taughl my lips to sing 
With gladness, that were dumb; because your heart 
Divined the secret of life's highest Ai't — 
Beauty is touch of cloud in everything — 
Because your faith has raised me from the cares 
Of blackest Doubt to Hope's all radiant beams. 
Revealed the truth of all my fading dreams. 
Inspired my loves and purified my prayers; 
Because your trust in man's divinity 
lias saved my soul, I give my all to thee. 



[69 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



WHEN THE BABY DIED 

A. J. WATERHOUSE 

When the baby died, so fair was she — 
Like a lily an angel had dropped for me — 
That I said to myself : ' ' She is only asleep, ' ' 
And I wondered that others would over her weep 
And I stooped and kissed her, half dreaming she 
Would open her blue eyes unto me, 
And laugh again as on yesterday, 
And dimple and croon in the dear old way — 
When the baby died. 

When the baby died I could not weep. 
And I said : ' ' She is only asleep — asleep 
She will wake ere long and I shall hear 
The prattle I love beat on my ear. ' ' 
And I smoothed all gently the golden hair, 
And I would not believe she was otherwhere 
As I cried, * ' My darling, look up and see ! " 
But only the night wind answered me — 
When the baby died. 

When the baby died — sometimes I start 
From a dream at night with a longing heart, 
For I fancy I hear through the silence wide 
A prattle of words from the babe that died. 
Then my hands fell down, though empty they be, 
For I know that my darling has gone from me, 
And the night creeps into a somber day, 
While my heart cries out : ' ' Come back, I pray ' - 
Since the baby died. 



[70] 



PRESEM PERIOD 1890 TO 1915 



A WINGLESS ONE 

I ikk max sen kffaUER 

When I siw in the vaults of azure and sun, 
Like blooms from their fields astray. 

On painted wings that fluttered and spun 
Two golden butterflies play — 

Two flames by an airy love made one 
In the heart of the day — 

Then I Longed for a mate and the gift of wings, 
Hut was doomed on the earth to lie, 

Till I cursed the elasp of the marl that clings 
To thwart my lust for the sky. 

And the mournful hunger of windless tilings 
For the visions that die. 



WIRELESS 

HENRY ANDERSON LAFLEB 

The high stars glimmer in thine iron net, 
And winds go whimpering along its wires; 
V.ist on the dark thy Titan bulk aspires — 

A watcher on a lonely parapel ! 

And far. from hidden isles in ooeao set, 

Invisibly, yet thrall to thy desin 

They come, on wings nor storm nor darkness 
tires — 
Words that the far-off hearts of men be 

Gaunt harvest, ■?• of desperate golfs of nicrht. 

Strang* winnower in wide dim vales of air, 
Wilt thou yet garner by thy mystic might 

Some word to still our ancient Long despair? — 
A whisper from the infinite .' ;i breath 
Caught from the far onfathomed golf of death 1 



71] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 
THE CALIFORNIA ESCHSCHOLTZIA 

AMELIA WOODWARD TRUESDELL 

The orange hue of the rainbow 

Is not so deep as thine ; 
More rich than a golden goblet 

Influshing with sun-lit wine. 

On its calyx of pink thy corolla 

Catches sheen from the passing sun, 

As if powder of pearls were dusted 
And gleamed thy soft gold upon. 

Of a truth, the dainty fay-maidens 
Must have crimped thine edge so thin 

Alike to some fairyland pattern, 
On thy stamen for golden pin. 

Deep down in the cup of thy petals 
One spot of a purple stain, 

Where the elves forgot in their revels 
The last bright drop to drain. 

As the scintillant dust of amber 
In the sun does thy pollen shine ; 

Such powder Queen Mab might covet 
To burnish her locks divine. 

At dusk thou modestly closest 
Thy petals with jealous fold ; 

All night thou cosily sleepest 
In a tent of the cloth of erold. 



[72] 



PRESENT PERIOD 1890 TO 1 



CALIFORNIA SUNBISE 

\v. I). CRABB 

A California sunrise, over-fair! 

See, scarlet-colored margins fringed with 
green ! 
Lo! fields of red and crimson bordered there I 

Bere, blue expanses spanned with whitened 
sheen ! 
Lo! yellow banners floating in the air! 

Now, purple pastures sweet as eye hath seen ! 
Here, pink as blossoms mellow with delight ! 
many hued, sky-ocean's painted Bight, 
Bent like Benin against the shore of night ! 



OUT IN CALIFORNIA 

C. BROWN 

Out there in California where the orange turns to 

gold, 
And nature has forgot the art of growing cold, 
There is not a day throughout the year the flowers do 

not grow ; 
There is not an hour the waters do not unfettered 

flow. 
There is not a single moment that the songsters cease 

to ting, 
And life's a sort of constant race twixt Summer and 

the Spring. 
Why, just to know the joy of it one might his best 

years give, 
Out there in California where it 's comfort just to live. 



[73 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 
A FLOWER OF THE FIRST 

CHARLES S. AIKEN 

"What is that 1 It 's only a rosebud ; 

'Twas caught as I marched from camp, 
As red as the red of her heart's blood — 

Tears made its petals so damp. 

Who threw it ? I can guess the maiden ; 

What matters her name to you ? 
For with love that flower is laden ; 

It says : ' ' Eyes of blue — be true ! ; 



5> 



Did she speak ? Not a word, just tossed it. 

I 'd seen her the night before — 
It fell, and she thought I 'd lost it ; 

And cried, for she had no more. 

To press it ? Never mind — don 't chaff me ; 

Love weighs some flowers with dew ; 
Ah, sweet, red blossom, with tears we 

Whisper : ' ' Eyes of brown — be true ! ' ' 



[74 



PRESENT PERIOD 1890 TO 1915 

A YKAK PROM NOW 
BABAB EEPPEL 7I0KEB? 

Will T have oilier thoughts 

A year from now? 

Will this dear joy si ill wear its blossomed 

crown | 
And this still dearer sorrow, 

Will it then, as now- 
Lay hands of blest remembrance 

On my head? 
I gaze into the dimness — 

Does there grow, beyond my seeing. 
The fair lighl of stars.' 
I know not — but Thou knowest — 
Thou, to whom tomorrow is to-day — 
I rest in Thee. 
Deal gently with my years. 



WHEN 1 AM GONE 

[BABEL I'lXl.KV 

When T am gone and the grass grows green 

O'er the couch where I'm laid to rest, 

Will you seek that spot, with a kindly thought 

For the one that loved you h. - 

If \<»u do. and you shed but a single tear, 

Though T eanuot stretch forth my hand. 
A violet blue shall smile up at you 
To tell you T understand. 



[75 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 
MY RETREAT 

ALBERT J. ATKINS 

There is a garden in my heart, 
A place from all the world apart, 
Where I alone in sorrow move, 
Awaiting her whose name is Love ; 
Here in my honr of deepest night 
I turn to find her beacon light. 

Sometimes I feel an inner gleam 
Of Love's true light, a steadfast beam; 
Then comes to me a low, sweet voice, 
Which makes my longing soul rejoice ; 
A message brings of strength, of might, 
That gives me courage for the fight. 

When weary with the outward strife, 
I seek this sacred inner life, 
And find within its calm repose, 
A brief surcease from earthly woes ; 
Thus, in the garden of my heart, 
I rest from all the world apart. 



WHOM DOES SHE LOVE? 

ARTHUR WILLIAM RYDER 

With one she gossips full of art ; 

Her glances with a second flirt ; 
She holds another in her heart : 

Whom does she love enough to hurt ? 



[76] 



PRESENT PERIOD 1890 TO 1915 
SISTERS OF THE LITTLE SORROWS 

JULIET WILBOB t> 

From visions of gray to morrows. 
All patient and son- dismayed. 
Come ye of the Little Some 
To whom no tears are paid: 

The hurt, who may not stagger, 

Who dare not nurse their stings — 
For wounds are of sword and dagger, 
And thorns are little things I 

'Tis only your beauty failing, 

The youth of your heart grown numb? 
Ah. sisters, we sit bewailing 
Vein- daily martyrdom: 

And she who treads the city 

With feet that mourn the wild, 
She shares our aching pity ; 
And she who bears no child ; 

And she of the crumbling altars ; 

And she who must earn her bread 
By paths where the spirit falters; 
And she whose friend is dead; 
And she who'd fain recover 

The spendthrift days that were; 
And the heart that found no lover — 
Kind Lord, they Laugh at her! 

The wounds that are not of sain 

Shall never be understood, 
But pity may ease your labors, 

patient Sisterhood ! 

For there be hearts n<> sadder, 

Nor truer right to mourn, 
Though the wasp is not the adder, 
One dies not of the thorn. 



77 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 
DAFFODILS 

GRACE HIBBARD 

"If I had but two loaves of bread, I would sell one and 
buy hyacinths. ' ' — The Koran. 

daffodils, bright daffodils, 

I'd sell my other loaf for thee. 
Thou art so sweet, I love thee so, 

That thou art soul-bread unto me. 

I've placed thee in a crystal vase, 

As clear as crystal vase can be ; 
Hold high thy pretty yellow heads, 

While I a story tell to thee. 

Once up each side a garden path 
Two lines of daffodils did stray, 

Two golden chains of memory, 

That link my childhood with to-day. 

Up to an old colonial house, 

From gate to doorsill, side by side, 

Were daffodils in yellow gowns, 

Gay daffodils — New England's pride. 

A little girl stood in the door, 

Her heart was filled with love for thee, 

First garden flowers of the spring, 
daffodils, that girl was me. 



[78] 



1'UESENT PERIOD 1890 TO 1915 



CONFUSION 

i:. t QBEEM 

Pretty Jennie came to me, 

Anxious, seeking information. 
"Show me, Ricnard, will you please, 

What is meant by osculation?" 

What could mortal man as I 

Do in such a situation, 
Father, Mother, no one by ; 

Liberal views, a strong temptation 1 

Jennie is my cousin, too. 

So, to please my young relation — 
"Oh, you horrid thing, there now, 

I referred to occultation." 



AN INDIAN VERSE 

TRANSLATED FROM LANGUAGE CALIFORNIA INDIANS 
BY HU MAXWELL 

Darling mine, sweet mine, we sever. 

I am going far from thee. 
Must this parting be forever? 

Shall we stroll beside the sea 
Any more 1 The sea breeze blowing 

Soft I feel upon my brow ; 
And I see the lightning flowing 

On the distant mountain now; 
And the verdant valleys under 

All the hills are gleaming bright, 
Lit by lightning, while the thunder. 

Dull and mournful, blends with night. 
And. alas! thou art not near me. 

And my soul is sad and lone ! 
Fare thee well. Thou canst not hear me — 

All my joy and 1)1 iss are flown. 

[79] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



THE STREAM OF LIFE 

LILIAN LAUFERTY 

Unknowingly, unceasingly, still day by day they pass 

us by — 
Those friends whom we shall never know — comrades 

to whom our spirits cry. 
A little child may shyly smile, a gray haired man 

may kindly glance ; 
But smiling still, they pass the while, and life bears 

on its puppet dance. 

Perhaps that girl with eyes sea gray might be a 

comrade soul to me ; 
That lad of spirit blithe and gay may hold to 

friendship 's shrine the key. 
But still the stream of life flows by — flows by to some 

unchartered sea ; 
A comrade spirit greets the eye, then sweeps away 

eternally. 

With laggard step or joyful feet, at every turn 

throughout the day 
We pass, but we may never meet, for still convention 

holds her sway. 
Brothers and sisters all, they claim — perhaps, but 

'tis a weary while. 
Since man has dared, unknowing shame, to greet his 

fellows with a smile. 



THE CHANGE 

CHARLES PHILIP NETTLETON 

Unconsciously we wail with life's first breath, 

So dark and dure the past throws down its shade ; 
But ripening years to strength and peace persuade 

Our souls, and consciously, we smile at death. 



[80] 



PRESENT PERIOD 1890 TO 1915 

THE SPIRIT OF CALIFORNIA 

rufi a sti:i-:i i: 

I am Ariel freed of a master; 

I am Puck lacking Obcron's ban ; 

When the lotus is ripe, hark my Pandean pipe 

For I'm Peter the godchild of Pan. 

I am Iris, my brush is a rainbow; 

Endymion awakened am I ; 

In the breasl of the tree Hamadryad I be — 

With Sequoia I tickle the sky ! 

Iu the orchard I hang my round beacons — 
Ah, Calypso, less pot nt thy lute! 
And men come to seize and Iran si rip my 1 r 
For I'm nectar that sweeten-, the fruit. 
My breath have I blown on the melon: 
AVhen the honey bee, Laden, starts home 
I follow his tracks, leave my kiss on his wax : 
The poppy I've sprinkled with chrome. 

I mask me in gold in the wheat-fields. 

And I laugh at the reaper's sure tread — 

The sheaves are alined, it is me they would bind: 

I am soul of the grain, I am bread. 

In autumn men seel; me in vineyai 

The purple which Lures them is mine — 

"The capture is nigh ; quick, the press !" is their cry 

I am blood of the grape, I am wine. 

0, I'm s.-cret of life-giving rivers; 

I am balm that exhales from Health's cav 

Consumed in each kernel, 1 Live on eternal, 

I am Blaster of Life, I 'm its slave. 

From the battlements of the Sierra 

The Pandean pipe I Bwing free. 

And my far-floating tune, in the stillness of noon, 

Wea\ 11 from the peaks to the sea 



81 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



SONG OF THE OUT-OF-DOORS 

HERBERT BASHFORD 

Come with me, O you world-weary, to the haunts 
of thrush and veery, 
To the cedar 's dim cathedral and the palace of 
the pine ; 
Let the soul within you capture something of the 
wildwood rapture, 
Something of the epic passion of that harmony 
divine ! 
Down the pathway let us follow through the 
hemlocks to the hollow, 
To the woven, vine-wound thickets in the 
twilight vague and old, 
While the streamlet winding after is a trail of 
silver laughter, 
And the boughs above hint softly of the melodies 
they hold. 
Through the forest, never caring what the way 
our feet are faring, 
We shall hear the wild birds ' revel in the 
labyrinth of Tune, 
And on mossy carpets tarry in His temples cool 
and airy, 
Hung with silence and the splendid, amber 
tapestry of noon. 
Leave the hard heart of the city, with its poverty 
of pity, 
Leave the folly and the fashion wearing out the 
faith of men, 
Breathe the breath of life blown over upland 
meadows white with clover, 
And with childhood 's clearer vision see the 
face of God again ! 



[82] 



PRESENT PElilOD 1890 TO 1915 



TO WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY 
Th< Poet of"Th< Fin Bringer" 

HBBBXET BXBOTH 

Dead! and we gaze, unseeing, on your bier. 

Where westward thunders roll; 

Rut though y<»u die, your Living song is clear 
(Prometheus lights your goal) ; 

And till we too are taken, we can hear- 
That music from vmir soul ! 



"THE GREATEST OF THESE IS CHARITY' ' 

II \KKII.T M. SKIDMORE 

Three kindly angels, crowned with light, 
Illumine our way through darkest night. 
Safe shall they rest in realms above 
Who follow Faith, and Hope, and Love. 

Hut Hope must die, her mission done, 
Where blissful certainty is won. 
And Faith, when "face to face" we see, 
Is lost in glad Reality. 

One fadeth not, one dieth ne'er, — 
But, robed in Heavenly radiance fair, 
Shall keep through endless years above 
Her glorious name — Immortal Love! 



[83] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



GLOSE UPON A RUBA'IY 

PORTER GARNETT 

"A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, 
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread — and Thou 

Beside me singing in the Wilderness — 
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!" 



Oft have the footsteps of my Soul been led 
By thee, sweet Omar, far from hum of toil 

To where the Chenar trees their plumage spread 
And tangly vines of wild-grape thickest coil ; 

Where distant fields, scarce glimpst in noon 
content, 
Are lush with verdure quick upon the plough ; 

"Where trill of Nightingale beneath the Tent 

Of heaven sinks away to soft lament ; — 

There have I sat with Thee and conned ere now 
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough. 

When from the city 's raucous din new-freed 

I quaff thy wisdom from the Clearing Cup 
Of Rubaiyat, then, even as I read, 

I seem with Thee, in Persian groves to sup 
On bread of Yezdakhast and Shiraz Wine 

That lifts the net of Care from off the brow. 
These words, that tongue the Spirit of the Vine, 
Break from the Veil, and lo ! the Voice is thine : 

Then is my wish — would Fate that wish 
allow ! — 

A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread — and Thou. 

Although I tread the Wilderness of life, 

Thy song can waft me to that careless clime, 

Where enter in nor memories of strife, 

Nor ghosts of woe from out the Gulf of Time. 

[84] 



PRESENT PERIOD TO 1915 



There, by thy side great Omar, would I stray, 

And drink the Juice that baa forgol the Press, 
(A Pot, the Potter shaped but Sesterday— 
To-morrow will it be bu1 broken Clay?) 
With only Thee the toilsome road to W 
Beside me singing in the S^ildern 

When thou dost BCOrn the waste and mourn the 
Rose. 

That dies upon the world's too sinful breast. 
In thy disdain a wondrous beauty glows, 

Unfolding visions of a Life more bleat. 
Then from thy Xaishapur in Khorasan 

I seem to wander, though I know not how, 

Within the glittering gates of Jennistan, 
Supreme Shadukiam I wondering scan : 

Though still I walk the Wilderness, I vow— 
Oh, Wildrmoss were Paradise enow ! 



THE POET 

INA COOLBRITH 

He walks with God upon the hills ! 

And sees, each morn, the world arise 
New-bathed in light of paradise. 

He hears the laughter of her rills. 
Her melodies of many voices, 
And greets her while his heart rejoices. 

She, to his spirit undefiled. 

Makes answer as a little child ; 

Unveiled before his eyes she stands. 
And gives her secrets to his bands. 



[85 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 
A LIFE 

EDWARD HOWARD GRIGGS 

The strength of gentleness, the might of meekness, 

The glory of a courage unafraid, 

Were in her face and in her life displayed. 

A constant love, a tenderness for weakness, 

IN THE REDWOOD CANYONS 

LILLIAN H. SHUEY 

Down in the redwood canyons, cool and deep, 
The shadows of the forest ever sleep, 
The odorous redwoods, wet with fog and dew, 
Touch with the hay and mingle with the yew. 
Under the firs the red madrona shines, 

The graceful tan oaks, fairest of them all, 
Lean lovingly unto the sturdy pines, 

In whose far tops the whistling blue-birds call. 

Here where the forest shadows ever sleep, 
The mountain lily lifts its chalice white, 
The myriad ferns hang draperies soft and light 

Thick on each mossy bank and watered steep, 
Where slender deer tread softly in the night, 

Down in the redwood canyons dark and deep. 

CALIFORNIA 

AUGUSTIN S. MACDONALD 

An abundance of sunshine, 

A tincture of rain, 
Rare atmosphere fine, 

Make life thrill again. 



86 



PRESENT PERIOD 1890 TO 1915 



NIGHT-SENTRIES 

QBOBGE BTBRLINQ 

Ever, as sinks the day on sea or Land, 
Called or uncalled you take your kindred posts. 

At helm and level-, wheel and switch yOU stand. 
On the world's wastes and melancholy coasts. 

Strength to the patient hand ! 
To all. alert and faithful in the uight, 
May there be Light ! 

Now roars the wrenching train along the dark: 

How many watchers guard the barren way. 
In signal-towers, at Btammering keys, to mark 
What word the whispering horizons say! 

To all that Bee and hark, — 
To all. alert and faithful in the night, 
May there be Light ! 

On ruthless streets, on by-ways sad with sin. 

(Half hated by the blinded ones yon guard) 
Guard well, lest crime unheeded enter in ! 
The dark is cruel and the vigil hard. 

The hours of guilt begin. 
To all. alert and faithful in the night, 
May there be Light ! 

Now reels the pulsing hull adown the - 

/e onward, anxious eyes, to mist or star! 
Where foams the heaving highway wide and free? 
Where wait the n^\\ the berg, the cape, the bar? 

Whatever menace be. 

To all. alert and faithful in the night, 
May there be Lighl ! 

Now the surf-rumble rides the midnight wind. 

And grave patrols are at the ocean-edge. 

Now soars the rocket where the billows grind, 
Discerned too late, on sunken shoal or ledge. 

rs7] 



VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS 



To all that seek and find, — 
To all, alert and faithful in the night, 
May there be Light ! 

On lonely headlands gleam the lamps that warn, 
Star-steady, or a-blink like dragon-eyes. 
Govern your rays, or wake the giant horn 
Within the fog that welds the sea and skies ! 

Far distant runs the morn : 
To all, alert and faithful in the night, 
May there be Light ! 

Now glow the lesser lamps in rooms of pain, 

Where nurse and doctor watch the joyless breath, 
Drawn in a sigh, and sighing lost again. 

Who waits without the threshhold, Life or Death ? 

Eeckon you loss or gain ? 
To all, alert and faithful in the night, 
May there be Light ! 

Honor to you that guard our welfare now i 

To you that constant in the past have stood ! 
To you by whom the future shall avow 
Unconquerable fortitude and good ! 

Upon the sleepless brow 
Of each, alert and faithful in the night, 
May there be Light ! 



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